


Executive Orders

by mystiri1



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno gets called on the carpet for failing to follow orders, and Rufus makes his feelings on the subject known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executive Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Исполнять приказы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121811) by [Oxygen_Neutron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxygen_Neutron/pseuds/Oxygen_Neutron)



Reno looked as insouciant as ever when he strolled into Rufus’ office, when in truth he was a little apprehensive. Tseng had already ripped a strip off him about today’s mission, and when he’d said, with a grim look in his eye, that the president wanted to see him, too…

“Hey, boss. You wanted to see me?” He came to a stop a few feet in front of the desk. Rufus didn’t look up, simply continued scanning the documents in front of him. Reno tried not to fidget too much.

Finally, Rufus picked up a pen and scrawled his signature across the page. He straightened them and placed them to one side before looking at the redheaded Turk.

“You’ve been a Turk a long time, haven’t you, Reno?” he asked coolly.

“Yeah,” Reno admitted, not sure where Rufus was going with this. He thought he’d been bought in here for a further dressing down. It was certainly true that Rufus’ cold blue eyes didn’t look at all friendly right now.

“And I’m sure you realise that there is no place in this organisation for someone who cannot follow orders.”

A chill washed through him. It wasn’t like things hadn’t worked out. They’d still got the job done. Surely he wasn’t saying –

“You’re out of uniform. Again.”

Reno blinked, confused.

Rufus stood, tugging at his tie as he walked around the desk. Reno’s hand unconsciously moved to where his tie would have been, if he’d worn it. Rufus pulled his own tie free of his collar, a long strip of white. “Turks are supposed to wear a suit with a tie. I’ll lend you my own, for now. Although it is the wrong colour, I’m sure it will suffice in the meantime.”

The blond came to a stop before Reno, and looped the tie around his throat. Reno couldn’t quite suppress the shiver as long elegant fingers lifted his ponytail out of the way, grazing against the nape of his neck. Rufus paid it no attention, though, fastening the white cloth into a perfect knot against his throat. It was only when his hands dropped away Reno realised it was fastened too high; not about the collar of his shirt, where it was supposed to be, but above it, like a collar of a completely different sort.

“Uh -”

“I do believe it is customary to say thank you when somebody does you a favour.”

“Thanks.” Reno clasped his hands behind his back to resist the urge to tug at it. Rufus was in a strange mood, and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Usually that wouldn’t bother him, but even he could see it wasn’t good to have both of his bosses pissed off at him at the same time.

Rufus turned to flip open a box sitting on the corner of the desk. Inside was a pistol, a long-barrelled piece with an ivory handgrip, delicate shapes etched into its surface. It wasn’t the gun he usually carried, but an antique from the collection of handguns and pistols that he owned. Reno had seen them carefully laid out in a glass case on the wall of his study, each with a little card detailing its maker, design specifications, and age. It shouldn’t have been here.

He watched as his employer lifted it out and carefully checked the ammunition. He couldn’t see from here, but the fact that once he was done the blond flicked the safety off with an audible click seemed telling enough. Rufus turned to face Reno, and said, as calmly as if he were ordering another cup of coffee, “On your knees, Reno.”

There was no quitting from the Turks. And no being ‘fired’ either. When your employment was terminated, so were you. Reno didn’t believe Rufus would do this – he’d been one of the ones to stick by the president after Meteor, to stay even when he was ill and it looked like ShinRa would never be rebuilt. But the blond hadn’t got where he was by being a nice guy. He was a cold, ruthless bastard, and while he had the Turks to do his dirty work for him, he wasn’t above dealing the necessary violence himself.

It was one of the reasons the Turks liked him. Well, why Reno liked him, anyway. Rufus dressed like a prissy rich kid – man, now, he supposed, although Rufus had been just as bad when he was still a teenager – with his immaculate white suits. He looked like he would be too upset at breaking a nail to consider anything as crass as physical violence. But he didn’t hesitate to splatter that same white fabric with blood when necessary. He didn’t look down on the Turks for what they did, didn’t regard them as simple thugs-for-hire, and that earned him more loyalty far more than any size pay-check could buy.

And it was why, if it came to this, then yes, Rufus would handle his own dirty work.

“I don’t think -” Reno never thought he’d fear his own death, but he always imagined going out in a fire-fight, being blown up or crashing in a blazing ball of flame. Not calmly kneeling on the floor of the president’s office for his own execution. This was too fucked up.

“Prove to me you can follow orders, Reno.” The words were practically purred, and Reno found himself kneeling without ever making the conscious decision to do so.

He held still as the cool steel of the barrel moved along the side of his face in something that was as much a caress as an unspoken threat. It slid back up to rest against his temple, and he looked steadily at Rufus, hoping the little voice in his head that was repeating _ohshitohshitohshit_ was audible only to him.

Rufus stared down at him expressionlessly. “Close your eyes, and open your mouth.”

Eyes closed immediately; it was almost a relief not to meet that icy gaze and wonder. But he hesitated just a few moments before opening his mouth, lips parting reluctantly. Over the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears he heard the slight rustle of fabric, but it was still a relief when it was hard flesh that pushed past his lips, and not cold steel. The side of the barrel returned to rest against his temple as fingers slid into his hair and tightened their grip.

“Suck me.”

Relief mixed with anger. It wasn’t like he’d never fucked around with Rufus. They had, usually when they were both a little drunk, and usually at Reno’s instigation. But it was always after hours; although Reno was quite happy to be on the bottom, he was in no way a passive or submissive partner, and the issue of Rufus being his employer was never raised. This pissed him off. Rufus might pay him to steal, torture, destroy or even kill, but he wasn’t a whore.

He was beginning to think Rufus wasn’t going to shoot him, although the blond never lowered the gun as Reno began to work at the cock in his mouth. Rufus rocked his hips a little, so that he was lightly fucking Reno’s mouth, and fingers tugged at his hair. He opened his eyes to glare up at Rufus, hoping his eyes conveyed his annoyance. Rufus’s response was to slide his cock a little deeper, so that Reno had to pay attention to what he was doing to avoid choking.

How the Rufus managed to look so unmoved while he was giving him a blowjob Reno didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was bad at it. Maybe the president just intended Reno to suck him off one last time before he blew his brains out – in the not-so-pleasurable sense, the redhead thought cynically. People thought he was a few bricks shy, but it was funny how nobody seemed to notice Rufus was a crazy fuck just because he dressed well and talked better. Some of the shit he pulled made Reno look like a textbook picture of mental health.

And dammit, this _wasn’t_ turning him on, to be blowing his boss while the man held a gun to his head. It was just the adrenaline, Reno told himself firmly. If he wasn’t an adrenaline junkie, he’d never have become a Turk.

A small sound escaped Rufus, and Reno looked up to see his ministrations were finally having an effect. There was a bit more colour to Rufus’ face, and an excited glitter to his eyes that he only got for violence or sex. Feeling a flicker of satisfaction at the sight, he sucked hard, only to have Rufus pull him away by his hair.

“That will do,” Rufus said coolly. “Now stand.” His hand tugged upwards.

Reno stood, partly because he was ordered to, and partly because he wanted to keep some hair. What was with Rufus, treating it like some kind of handle? He was starting to get too pissed off to remember he was trying to be careful, here. In fact, as soon as he was standing, he wiped some of the excess saliva from his face and spat out in angry tones, “I’m not your damned whore!”

“Really?” Rufus arched an eyebrow, and finally let go of his hair. The gun rested at his side, not immediately threatening, but not forgotten. One hand found Reno’s crotch, and massaged firmly. “Yet you seem to be enjoying it. Perhaps I should change your job description? Make it include kneeling beneath my desk and sucking my dick. Might make some of those boring meetings go faster.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hmm, that, too? That would have to wait for a more private moment; I’m not in the habit of performing for an audience.”

“If you think I’d do anything like -”

One perfectly manicured hand snapped up so fast Reno expected to feel it connect with his cheek, but it stopped to hover over the top button of his shirt. “You are a Turk, Reno. You are paid to do whatever I tell you to. And you will do so. As long as you wear this uniform…” Fingers slid the button free, making it an unspoken threat.

Reno remained silent as he continued to undo the next two buttons. When he got to the third button, Rufus paused.

“Do you wish to take it off?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” The last button slipped out of its hole, so that Reno’s shirt – un-tucked as usual - was now gaping open. Rufus flattened his hand against warm skin. “I guess you’re going to be a good, obedient Turk.” He moved around behind Reno without removing his hand.

The redhead could feel him pressing against his back, warm, solid. The erection that pressed firmly against his ass as Rufus toyed with his nipples under the fabric of his shirt. He bit back a whimper as one was twisted to the point of pain.

Then the hand was fumbling his belt free, undoing his pants. Rufus moved away long enough to shove his pants down before pressing close once again. His cock nudged between the cheeks of Reno’s ass, the tip wet with pre-cum and saliva. Rufus stroked a few strands of hair from Reno’s face, then a touch came on the other cheek: the pistol. It moved downward, a cool caress of hardened steel.

“Bend forward and place your hands on the desk.”

Reno complied. The desk was only one foot, perhaps two, in front of him, and the position left him bent over, his ass pressed back against insistent flesh. He shifted his feet a little to compensate for the change in balance, but he couldn’t move his feet far apart with his pants around his ankles. It didn’t leave him feeling any less open and exposed.

Rufus stepped back long enough to prepare him, somewhat roughly. Reno couldn’t suppress the slight shiver that ran through him as slick fingers pressed against his opening, rubbing slightly before pushing in. Two fingers became three; then they were replaced with something thicker, blunter. A sound that was half gasp, half cry escaped him.

Fingers stroked though the long strands of hair in a move that would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been accompanied by a more solid touch as the pistol trailed down his back, following a line alongside his spine. Another tremor ran through him, and he could feel some of the tension leaving his body. One hand slid down to his hip, taking a firm grip while the other moved around.

“Shit!” Reno gave a startled cry as the barrel pressed up against the side of his own erection, which seemed to be rethinking its enthusiasm for the whole thing. The angle shifted so it was pointing downwards, the long steel cylinder pressing into the join between groin and cock, and across his balls. “Ru- _Ungh!_"

Rufus thrust forward, pushing him painfully hard against the solid metal object.

“Dammit, Rufus!” Reno managed to choke about between thrusts. “If your finger slips -”

“One of us will be limping, yes. You should probably try not to move so much.”

Reno braced himself hard against the desk as Rufus continued to move. “I think I’m more worried about the heat from the discharge,” he gritted.

The hand at his hip disappeared, and the next thing he knew he could feel a tug on his ponytail. Then something else.

The tie about his neck no longer hung down the front, and he had no idea when Rufus had shifted it about, but it was both hair and fabric he held in his grip. Reno felt caught, trapped, pulled in all directions: the polished surface beneath his grip; the rhythmic tug at the back of his head, around his throat; the push of Rufus against him, inside him; and the barrel of the pistol pressing into his groin.

His breath felt unnaturally harsh in his throat, and hitched a little every time the tie pressed harder against his windpipe. Every time Rufus struck that place inside him. A hoarse expletive from behind him suggested the blond was no longer so calm and controlled.

A particularly hard thrust sent his vision white, stars bursting behind his eyes as his body arched, muscles tightening, and for a brief second he thought _oh shit_ – then he came, hips jerking, ignoring the pain of unforgiving steel against tender flesh.

It was a struggle to remain in place, upright on trembling limbs, as Rufus reached his own climax. A stifled cry – because Rufus was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch – and he simply stood there for several long moments before pulling out, stepping back. Another pause and then he was tugging Reno’s pants back up, underwear and all, fastening them in place. Reno could feel the fabric sticking to his crotch, the wet leak of semen and fluids that would gradually dampen the seat of his trousers as well.

His own pants still unfastened, Rufus placed the gun on the desk, and headed for the private bathroom that was attached to his office. “I’m going to clean up. Wait here.”

Reno tossed a muttered curse at his back, and began fastening his shirt.

Rufus didn’t take long, and emerged looking only slightly mussed from the whole experience.

“I expect that tie to be cleaned and laundered before you return it to me,” he said briskly. He picked up the pistol and examined it with a frown. The barrel glistened with the sticky remnants of their activities. He handed it to Reno. “You will clean this, too. Properly. I expect it returned to its proper place by -” a quick glance at his watch as he sat down behind the desk “- nine o’clock this evening.”

There were two messages in that instruction, and Reno nodded acknowledgement, but his hands were busy, opening the chamber to discover –

Nothing. It had been empty the entire time.

“You asshole.”

“Is that anyway to speak to your employer?”

“You’re an asshole, _sir._”

“I suppose that’s an improvement. I trust I will not be hearing any more complaints about you failing to follow orders in the future?”

Oh, he was quite looking forward to fulfilling his latest set of orders; Rufus had a luxurious apartment with all the best amenities, such as a fully stocked liquor cabinet and a very comfortable bed. Reno’s cocky grin was back in place as he replied, “Of course not, _sir._”

Rufus smiled. “Liar.”


End file.
